The Unholy Covenant
by LittleRedHatRocks
Summary: Ever since his childhood, Joey Drew has sacrificed a lot for his success. Where, if anywhere, is he willing to draw the line? Is there something - or SOMEONE - too precious for him to surrender? (One-sided Joey/Henry, TW for some darker/more violent aspects)
1. Introduction: The Sacrifice

Within the Throne Room of the Beast, Henry Stein was fighting desperately for his life.

As the gigantic hellish ink creature dashed maniacally at him, claws and fangs bared, he ducked and weaved with all the agility his years allowed. All the while, he clutched the film reel Joey had left for him tightly to his chest – the bringer of Bendy's end being a tool far too valuable to lose.

As the Ink Demon lowered its head with a deep growl, bracing itself for yet another charge, the impossibly tense atmosphere was shattered by a short, sharp sound.

A gunshot.

Henry whirled around at the noise, turned to face the doorway... and the sight that met his eyes chilled him to the core.

Stood there, swaying and staggering on unsteady feet, was Joey Drew: his hands shaking rapidly as he dropped the smoking pistol. Blood trickled down from his chest – the red liquid running and merging into the black ooze flooding the floor. As he opened his mouth to speak, what emerged was nothing more than a wheezing croak.

"Henry..."

"_Joey..._" came the overwhelmed reply. "Joey, what have you _done?!_"

Joey painfully inched himself a few steps closer, before lurching suddenly into a complete collapse. Henry hastily waded forward through the ink to reach him, catching him in his arms.

The Ink Demon made no movement: it simply watched and waited, never once taking its eyes off the pair. It could attack them at any moment if its wished to. However, there was no pleasure to be had in killing something already on the brink of death.

As Henry cradled his old colleague in his arms, his legs began to buckle under the added weight. Dropping to his knees, he could feel himself sinking down deeper into the inky abyss, but continued to hold Joey to himself ever more carefully. Ever more closely.

As Joey frantically gasped for breath, the formerly simple act of staying alive now requiring ever more effort, he reached a hand up to brush against Henry's cheek - tugging and tilting his face downwards to look at him eye to eye.

"Not... not _you_, Henry," he wheezed. "_Never_ you..."

"What are you talking about?"

"The... the covenant..."


	2. The Sickness

Alone in a hospital bed in the darkness of the night, the scent of disinfectant stinging at his nostrils, a five-year-old boy lay wide awake as one thought cycled constantly through his mind. He hadn't had much schooling yet, but this fact was one he was certain of.

He didn't want to die.

The doctors wouldn't say what was wrong with him. Not _to_ him, at least. They just kept telling him what a brave little boy he was. How his fighter attitude was bound to get him better sooner or later. But he wasn't deaf to their hushed remarks at his bedside – the whispered conversations they had with his mom and dad when they thought he was sleeping. He had no idea who "Polly O" was, but she certainly didn't seem very nice. It was her that had made him sick... put him into this scary, lonely place for what felt like a lifetime. What had he done wrong to her?

He gazed upwards, too terrified to close his exhausted eyes in case they never opened again. He even blinked as fast as he possibly could, just to make sure that his eyes weren't shut for a moment longer than necessary: the white plaster ceiling having become a most reassuring sight.

Ceiling. Blink. Ceiling. Blink. Ceiling. Blink.

_A smile._

Joey's eyes grew wider than ever. He sat bolt upright in terror, his mouth opening in a scream – muffled when a soft gloved hand was rapidly clapped over it.

Sitting there, on his bed, was a black-and-white, boy-sized creature with dark pie-cut eyes – two horns atop its head.

"Hey, Joey!"

It was a happy voice. Friendly and kind – rather like something he'd hear from his classmates in the playground at recess. All the same, it didn't stop Joey from looking around the ward frantically, searching eagerly for a passing doctor or nurse.

His efforts emitted giggles from his bizarre visitor.

"You're really funny, Joey!" it said. "It's OK. I'm your pal."

"My... my pal?" Joey repeated, astounded.

"That's right. I came here special - _just_ to see you. I'm your new best buddy, Bendy."

"Bendy?"

The creature nodded. Titling his head sideways, he looked at Joey with a puzzled expression.

"What are you even doing here?" he asked.

"I'm... I'm real sick," Joey explained. "I... I'm scared that I might die. I don't think the doctors can make me better."

"Don't worry!" Bendy told him in enthused tones. "_I'll_ make you better!"

"What - _really?__"_

"Sure I can, pal! I mean – if you _want_ me to?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Okey dokey, pal. You just have to make me a little promise first."

Joey hesitated. His mother had always told him never to make a promise that you couldn't keep. Besides, he had no clue who this Bendy creature was, or where he had even come from. He didn't seem... earthly. But, if he could get him out of this horrible hospital, he was willing to at least _listen_ to what he had to say.

"What's the promise?" he asked, intrigued.

"You'll get all better, and be really famous one day," Bendy explained. "You'll be able to draw real good, and make cartoons. But, when you draw, you have to draw _me._ You have to make _me_ famous too, Joey. If you promise to do that, and to do anything else I tell you, then _I_ promise _you_ that you'll have a great life."

Grinning, he extended his glove hand towards him.

"So... do we have a deal, pal?"

Right away, Joey clasped Bendy's hand in his, shaking it tightly.

* * *

One week later, the doctors would say it was a miracle. The boy had been close to death. Now, all traces of the polio had vanished from his body... except for a defect in his left foot. It was withered and slightly twisted – not uncommon in suffers of this ailment. He would need the assistance of a cane, and sometimes a wheelchair, for the rest of his life. But, when all was said and done, he still _had_ his life. A limp and some loss of balance were very small prices to pay.

From the moment he arrived back home, Joey started to honour his end of the bargain. Throughout the remainder of his childhood, he filled countless notebooks with sketches and doodles of the demonic-looking darling who had cured him entirely (well, _almost_) of his affliction, practising constantly to try and get every detail just right.

He kept it up during high school. Then through college, where he went to study fine art. When a fellow student, Henry Stein, spotted Joey doodling the demon on a napkin in the cafeteria one lunchtime, he paid his compliments – striking up a conversation in the process.

From that first meeting, a friendship had quickly blossomed, and by the time of their graduation, Joey, determined to open up his own animation studio, invited Henry to come and work with him. Together, they went on to create an entire cast of crazy characters to fill up their new Sillyvision productions – but Bendy would always be, without fail, the central figure in each adventure. Joey insisted on it.

When a curious Henry asked the reason why, Joey's answer was a confusing one.

It was, he said, a tribute to a very dear friend.


	3. The Suffering

Several years passed.

It was now the late Thirties. Now based in the heart of Hollywood, with a loyal, clever and creative team surrounding him, Joey Drew's star was rapidly on the rise. The entire world, it seemed, was learning of his creations and his ever-increasing talents.

At the same time, Joey was learning something about himself.

He'd never had much interest in women. He'd tried dating them on occasion: female classmates from his art major, his new voice actress Susie Campbell, and one or two other ladies that had crossed his path in recent years. Yet, it was the thought of just one person that caused his heart to race.

_Henry._

Joey told himself that it was wrong. It was unnatural for one man to love another in that way. It was against God's will. His Catholic school teachers had been very clear on that, hammering quotations from the book of Leviticus permanently into his brain. Perhaps, having made a deal with a demon in his childhood – granted, without really knowing then that's what Bendy was – he had absorbed some traces of evil into himself.

Then again, Bendy had kept his word. Joey was alive. He was successful. His studio was thriving. How could someone who kept their promises so fantastically well be considered evil? Wasn't evil all about lies and deceit? Not to mention, it had all happened so long ago, Joey couldn't be sure if it was anything more than a fever dream. His excellent fortune might well be a mere coincidence.

Besides, whenever he thought of Henry, Joey's heart was flooded with utter ecstasy - a warming contentment that seemed, to him, like a taste of heaven. Something that felt as good as that, he considered, couldn't possibly come from the Devil.

What followed, however, very well could have.

On that fateful morning when Henry had waltzed into work merrily, all smiles, whistling an upbeat tune, whispers quickly rushed around the studio about him being in love. There was precedence for it, after all: when Susie Campbell had sung "Willow Weep for Me" during one recording session, Sammy Lawrence had whistled it for weeks afterwards... and _everyone_ knew what was going on there.

Upon seeing Henry and his silly behaviours for himself, Joey had dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, _he_ was the object of his friend's desires. When Henry invited him over to his apartment for dinner that night, saying only that he had something important to tell him, Joey brought out the big guns in anticipation. He got a shave at the barbershop, donned his finest suit, and practically drowned himself in cologne – thanking Bendy repeatedly for yet another blessing. After knocking on Henry's door enthusiastically, barely able to contain his excitement, his gracious host let him inside...

… where he was immediately introduced to Linda. Henry's new girlfriend.

Joey was very civil about it. He shook Linda's hand, sat with her at dinner, made conversation as charmingly as he could - all the while masking his emotions behind a friendly smile. It was only later, once he was back home and safe behind his own locked door, that he crumpled into a heap on the carpet, screaming in anguish.

* * *

For a long time after that, Joey failed to focus on work. He let other animators take the lead on the new cartoons, which lacked the success of the previous releases. His career, once a powerful locomotive on the track to stardom, began to swerve perilously towards a derailment. Politely listening to Henry's romance stories drained him of all energy – forced as he was to feign enthusiasm whilst utterly dying inside.

Soon, Joey found himself drawing Bendy less and less.

_And the demon didn't like it._

One night, about three months after the dreadful dinner, Joey was working late in his office. The hallways were silent, everyone else having long since gone home for the day. As Joey dipped his pen into the inkwell, adding some finishing touches to a anthropomorphic flower, he was disturbed by a familiar white-gloved hand slamming down onto the paper violently – smudging the ink beneath.

"Bendy," he choked.

"Joey," the little demon barked back. "You've been slacking off lately."

"I... I know. I'm sorry. It's just that - "

"Oh, I _know_ what it is. It's your precious Henry, right? Well, boohoo for your broken heart, Drew, but at the end of the day, we had a deal."

He scoffed.

"I'm starting to think you might not want the good health and great success that I've given you."

"What?! Of course I do!" Joey protested.

Bendy grinned wickedly.

"Then prove it."

* * *

From there, everything had gotten out of hand.

Bendy had asked for a physical body: a way to exist in the human world beyond apparitions that only his "buddy" could see. Joey, knowing that his love for Henry would never be requited – having recently been invited to be best man at his and Linda's wedding - now placed all his hopes of happiness firmly in his career, the success of which was clearly linked to the little demon's satisfaction. If Bendy was happy, Joey would be too.

After many months of consulting various mystical texts and ritual manuals, a brainwave finally struck: the Ink Machine. Through a complicated mixture of magic and machinery, Bendy would be moved from the ethereal realm to ours. His innocent, beloved cartoonish form would make him seem like an innovation of new technology: a literal dream made reality. No-one would be any the wiser about his true origin. Something so sweet was surely above suspicion.

The machine wouldn't come cheap. In his desperation to raise the funds, Joey pushed his team to their absolute limits... and beyond. Cartoons were churned out like boxes on a conveyor belt. Overtime was practically mandatory. Pipes flowing with ink were installed all around the studio – the constant leaks and bursts a source of irritation to everyone.

Two months into this warped endeavour, Henry had had enough, and confronted Joey directly. Now a newlywed, he wanted to spend more time at home with his bride: maybe think about starting a family.

Joey, still wounded by what he saw as some sort of betrayal of Henry's part, challenged him with equal wrath about his loyalty - about his desire to really revolutionise the industry, to make animation history. These heated arguments only grew worse as time went on... until finally, and decisively, Henry walked away. Forever.

It was a choice that would save him from disaster.

Joey didn't dwell on Henry's departure for long. He was far too busy doing the demon's will. In time, he'd built the machine, and assembled the required objects for the summoning ritual. He lit the candles, said the chants, set the mechanical behemoth running... and from there, all hell had broken loose.

The friendly figure that had visited him in his childhood wasn't the Bendy that he brought forth. _This_ demon sought its payment not in fame, but in blood.

_Joey wasn't the first person to die for Bendy. He could only hope that he would be the last._

* * *

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: To clarify, I personally have no issues with homosexuality, and I am a supporter of gay rights. Joey's angst is intended to reflect the more restrictive and less tolerant social views of the past, and the guilt such repressive situations can sadly create in people._**


	4. The Sequence

_**FAUSTUS: Where are you damn'd?**_  
_**MEPHISTOPHELES: In hell.**_  
_**FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that thou art out of hell?**_  
_**MEPHISTOPHELES: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.**_

_**― Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus**_

* * *

As he lounged in an old armchair, half-sleeping, the radio softly playing ragtime songs, Joey Drew released that this was not how he had envisioned his retirement. He'd always imagined that he'd spend his twilight years living in some luxury mansion on a private island, not a run-down assisted living apartment less than a mile from his former studio. He thought his arrangement with Bendy would have assured that.

Still, the demon had told him he'd be famous, not immortal. There was never a guarantee it would last forever. And it hadn't. In spite of everything he had done to try and please him.

_Spending his studio into ruin._

_Slave labour._

_Black magic._

_Murder._

'Formerly famous', Joey decided, was still better than 'infamous'.

Whenever his thoughts turned toward his past, Joey strove to focus on the positives. The awards ceremonies. Journalists crowding around him to get publicity shots. Children reaching their little arms over velvet rope barriers at the opening of Bendy Land, just for a chance to shake his hand.

To the public, he had been their eccentric lovable uncle, the godfather of giggles, the cartoon caliph. Everything that had the potential to ruin his carefully crafted image was kept hidden in the shadows.

_Everything._

Now, Joey treated his own memories the same way.

Distractions helped. With his worsening health and advancing age, he didn't get out much these days, so he tried to busy himself around the apartment with chores and hobbies. Right now, he really needed something to do.

Clutching his cane, Joey awkwardly rose up from the armchair, and hobbled over to his old drawing desk. He picked up a pencil and a blank sheet of paper, idly and mindlessly doodling nothing in particular... until he froze at the feel of claws clasping upon his shoulder.

"Hello, old pal."

This was no cheery greeting. It had been uttered in a low, sinister growl. Despite knowing exactly who... _what_... was behind him, Joey didn't want to turn around – but as the pressure grew on his shoulder, the black talons digging down further into his skin, he finally summoned the courage, and looked.

"Bendy."

Fangs were flashed in a crooked grin.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" the demon said. "I must say – the years haven't been great to you. Your star has faded. Your cartoons are locked up in old reel cans, left to gather dust. How many people out there on the street would know your name now, hmm?"

Joey said nothing. Shrugging, he turned back towards his doodles – leading the Ink Demon, infuriated, to slam him down sharply onto the desk with one hand: pinning him there, helpless, as the nightmarish creature leaned forward to whisper into his ear.

"It's about the right time to make a comeback, don't you think?" he purred, his voice loaded with venom. "A Renaissance, maybe? I can make it happen, Joey. I just need one little favour from you."

Joey was quickly turning as white as one of his old cartoon characters. Trembling, with beads of sweat flowing down his face, he forced himself to look up into the demon's eyes: swallowing hard before he wheezed out a response.

"What do you want from me?"

"A letter," the Ink Demon replied. "Just one little letter to an old friend. That's all."

"Who?"

"Henry Stein."

Clutching the fabric of Joey's sweater, he pulled back sharply: causing his victim to fly backwards off of his chair into a crumpled heap on the floor, landing with a violent thud. As the old man struggled, with great difficulty, to get back on his feet, the Ink Demon offered him no help. Instead, he took advantage of his towering height as he leaned over him, maintaining dominance – crushing his cane underfoot like a stepped-on twig.

"It's been what... 30 years... since you last spoke?" he went on. "You must miss him terribly. You should invite him to the studio – let him see what you've done with the place."

He chucked contentedly.

"I would so love the chance to meet him for myself."

"_No!_" Joey wailed, as helpless as an infant. "_Not_ Henry! I'll do anything you want, but leave _him_ alone!"

The demon tutted.

"Drew, Drew, Drew," he muttered, shaking his head in irritation. "I thought you'd have figured out how this works by now."

In one lightning-fast strike, the Ink Demon seized Joey in his claw – grasping him by the throat as he pinned him against the wall. As the animator spluttered and struggled for breath, the demon leaned into his face so closely that smears of ink began to spill onto his cheeks.

"_I_ say, _you_ do," he growled. "And _I_ say that I need another soul. If you won't give me Henry's, then I'll take yours instead. _Painfully._ It's him, or you. Understood?"

Joey nodded frantically. Satisfied, the demon lowered him to the ground – the ex-director inhaling deeply as his dark master released his chokehold.

"Good boy, Joey," Bendy said, patting him on the head patronisingly. "Remember our agreement."

With one talon, he pulled back the desk chair, gesturing for Joey to resume his seat.

"Now... I believe you have a letter to write?"

* * *

The evening before Henry was due to arrive in Los Angeles, the Ink Demon visited Joey once more – teaching him where to stand and what to say, his cane restored to him in a strangely uneasy gesture of goodwill. The objective was simple. Joey couldn't reveal anything about his sinister actions to his former friend, but he couldn't risk him walking away, either. By hook or by crook, he had to get Henry into that studio.

From there, Bendy would take care of the rest. He wouldn't trouble Joey any more. Following this final sacrifice, he would be permitted to die in peace: sometime soon, tucked up safe and warm in his bed.

_That_ night, Joey was too terrified to sleep. Instead, he stayed up straight through until morning, going through his routine again and again, like one of his theme park automatons performing its show piece. Perhaps, somehow, though some coded word or clever action, he could give Henry a warning... get him out of there and away from danger, whilst making the whole thing seem like an innocent misstep?

_No. Bendy would know. He'd come after him._

_And there was no guarantee he still wouldn't go after Henry, too._

Besides – he'd already made plans. He'd taken a taxi to the studio on a made-up pretext: something about needing to tidy the place up before Henry's visit, to alleviate suspicions when he first went in. When he got back home, he'd "forgotten" two things: a film reel, and a tape.

It wasn't much, but it would give Henry a chance. He could only pray that chance was enough to save him. To save them _both_.

On that fateful day, Joey was in the kitchen washing dishes – his pre-prepared activity - when he heard the sharp buzz sounding though the apartment. At the same time, his heart skipped a beat: partly out of fear, partly out of desire.

He'd suspected it for years, but now that the moment of their reunion was nigh, it had been confirmed to him. He still loved Henry. He couldn't picture him as an old man: in Joey's mind, he was permanently youthful – still that handsome creative genius that had walked out of his life so bluntly and brutally, due to Joey's own arrogance and foolishness.

Given what he was about to happen, he begged for a reason to hate him now.

Let him have grown hideous. Let him come in here and rage at Joey: shout at him, swear at him, get his blood boiling.

_For Christ's sake - give me a way to justify this._

His wish wasn't granted. True, Henry was an hour early, but that wasn't any reason to resent him. If anything, Joey was grateful, as it cut down on his agonising wait.

As he called out for his visitor to enter, Henry did so calmly and politely – no ranting or raving, merely a cheery "Hello". To his amazement, Joey found himself joking out loud about Henry's punctuality, or lack thereof: the remark flowing naturally from his mouth as though only thirty minutes had passed between them, not years.

As he heard his former friend stepping through the kitchen door behind him, Joey stared out of the window in front of him intensely, dreading having to turn around. He was too frightened of what he might see.

If Henry _had_ grown ugly, maybe due to some accident or illness, his heart would break out of sheer pity. He didn't deserve to have gone through something like that.

_He didn't deserve to be broken and crooked like him._

On the other hand, if Henry was still desirable... his heart would break out of longing. Out of his unrequited want – no, his _need_ \- to be with him: to get him all to himself, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, forever. It was one of the few dreams he'd had over his lifetime that had no chance of coming true.

Joey couldn't avoid pain. It was a case of which kind he wanted least.

Drawing in a deep breath, he steeled himself, and turned.

The first thing he saw was Henry's eyes. They were as bright and blue as ever, and still sparkling, unaltered by time. His hair, formerly blond, was now a sleek silver – the locks still piled atop his head with their gentle, fluffy curl.

Yes, there were a few more wrinkles across his face, and a tad more fat on the belly, as there was with most men of an increased age... but on the whole, Henry Stein had remained a very attractive man.

_And by the gods, did Joey Drew still want him._

He couldn't say anything to Henry about it. He had a script to follow, a scene to play out – just like he had done all those years ago in the recording booth whilst dubbing those demon-inspired cartoons. And he knew... he just _knew_... that now, _Bendy_ was the one watching _him._

The conversation happened. Henry took the bait. As soon as he'd stepped out of the apartment, heading towards the studio, Joey staggered into the living room and collapsed into his armchair – his emotions whirling, his energy drained. Sighing heavily, he looked up towards the leaking, mould-covered ceiling above him.

"I did what you wanted," he croaked - weak in voice, but with a cold conviction. "I've given him to you."

The drops of old rainwater pitter-pattering through the cracks took on a black colour, falling faster into small, scattered puddles on the carpet. As they congealed together into one thick ooze, they rose up in the familiar, frightening form of the Ink Demon.

"Yes," came the stark reply. "You've served me well, Joey."

"I love him so much," Joey went on, his eyes watering. "Even now, after all this time. If I had the chance again, I... I would have given it all away for him. All the fame. All the fortune. I know Linda made him happy, gave him a family, but... I know I could have done the same. I _would_ have. Somehow."

"Of course you could have. But you made your choice."

"Please," Joey begged, now openly sobbing. "When the moment comes... let it be swift. Painless. I... I don't want him to suffer. He isn't like the others. I don't want him to go the same way."

The demon shook his head firmly.

"Sorry, Drew. You're not the boss of anybody anymore. _I_ decide how it ends, not you."

As a sinister smirk crossed Bendy's face, Joey felt his hands shaking.

"And if you think that little film reel of yours that you put down there is enough to stop me," Bendy went on, "you're sadly mistaken. I'm so much more than a stupid little cartoon you dreamt up. Just for that, I'm making the bastard pay."

Before Joey could protest, the twisted creature began to slither and sink away.

"You're mine until you die, Drew," he snapped. "Never forget that."

Left alone with his guilt, Joey buried his face into his hands, weeping bitterly. The heart-wrenching words of the Ink Demon echoed endlessly in his mind, draining all hope and joy out of him... until, very slowly and carefully, as they repeatedly yet again, he began to examine them more deeply.

_You're mine until you die._

_It's him, or you._

He didn't hesitate for a moment. The slow, awkward hobble to his bedroom was agonising, but Joey didn't care in the least. It was his own personal road to Calvary: his chance to hopefully rid himself of just a fraction of the evil that smeared his soul, like the thick black ink upon his monstrous children.

Rustling around in his dresser drawer, he laid his hand on his pistol. He continued to hold it carefully as he scrambled over to the phone – his finger lightly brushing against the trigger as he called for a car.

_Success required sacrifice._

Now, that's exactly what the Ink Demon was going to get.

* * *

In the Throne Room, Joey's body was growing cold as the self-inflicted injury overwhelmed him. However, as he lay there, cradled so carefully in Henry's arms, a spark of warmth still blazed inside his heart.

Destiny – and Bendy - had wanted him to leave this Earth in his apartment, alone and forgotten, with no one there to witness it. _This_ ending to his life's story, whilst far more brutal, was also so much more beautiful. He was still a villain, a monster, a sinner through and through: his intended death would, no doubt, have been more befitting of his character. But now, as he lay in the embrace of the man he loved, he couldn't help but feel a little bit like a tragic hero.

_By the gods... even now, he had a ego. He simply couldn't help himself._

His offering to Bendy – his own soul, in place of his dear Henry's – wasn't enough, he knew, to redeem his many sins. But now, at long last, Joey Drew could say with certainty that he had finally done something good.

Looking up, he could see that the expression on Henry's face was a conflicted one. Joey could sense that hints of their former friendship were still there... but by exploring the hell on Earth Joey had created down here, Henry now knew the whole truth about him: the terrible things he had done. It was hard for him to take in, to understand - to forgive Joey for. And the dying man could see it.

_Don't hate me, Henry,_ he begged silently. _Drop me down and leave me here to sink in the ink if you must, but __please__ don't hate me._

Slowly, Joey grasped Henry's hand, squeezing it tightly within his own shivering fingers.

"Sorry," he croaked. "_I'm so sorry -_"

Henry shushed him.

"Don't say that, Joey."

These words gave Joey hope... only for him to be devastated by the remark that followed.

"You can't ever make up for the wicked things you've done. Not now."

Joey knew this, and he nodded to show it.

"No," he said. "But – at least - I can save you."

"But _why me?_" Henry challenged. "Out of everyone that worked for you, that you could have spared - what is it about _me_ that makes me so special to you?"

With a weak smile, Joey reached up towards Henry's cheek, and caressed it softly – the gesture causing his friend's eyes to grow wide in shock.

"Because... I love you, Henry," he breathed. "I... I always have."

Henry tried to speak, but Joey shushed him, placing his finger to his mouth momentarily. With all the strength he could muster, he threw himself forward, drawing his head closely to Henry's, and kissed him once – swiftly, sweetly and tenderly – on his lips.

As Joey fell back down, he winced in pain. The end was growing near. Henry, still holding him, was now staring at him, confused and overwhelmed.

"Joey..." he gasped.

His old friend merely smiled back.

"Goodbye, my love," he rasped.

Closing his eyes, he breathed his last.

The Ink Demon screeched, overwhelmed with rage. Flying at Henry, he grasped the animator within his claw, and wrenched Joey's body out of his arms before pushing him away sharply. By the time Henry had steadied himself, ready to respond, the monster had clutched the dead man to his chest, and sunk back into the seas of ink – which faded away into nothingness, leaving no trace behind.. except the film reel Joey had planted.

Henry read its title carefully. It couldn't have been any more appropriate.

THE END.

* * *

Except it wasn't.

Joey Drew was back in his apartment kitchen – standing and staring through the window yet again, waiting for the doorbell to sound. In the corner, the Ink Demon lurked and watched him carefully, like a director observing an actor. In a minute, Henry would enter, as he had countless times before, and give Joey his cue. Bendy was there to ensure that he didn't change the script.

He tried it now and again. Sometimes, he told Henry not to go to the studio: first through subtle hints, then through outright pleading with him to go home to his family. Sometimes, he'd yelled and cursed at the Ink Demon, visible only to his eyes - desperate to vent his frustration. And, every so often, he declared his love to Henry – on at least one occasion, rushing towards him and embracing him tightly, longing to give him a passionate kiss.

Now _that_ had ended brilliantly, the Ink Demon thought. Henry, panicked, had pushed Joey away, causing him to fall back and bang his head on the edge of the kitchen counter, killing him instantly. It was great entertainment.

Still, it wasn't what the script said to do. So it started again.

And even if Joey played his part perfectly - once the story was finished, it started again. And so on, _a__d infinitum_. There were no breaks. No pauses. No respite. Joey would always be stood there in that kitchen, waiting for Henry: sending him off to fight a horrific battle that he would never win – never even had a chance to win - over and over, until the very end of time.

The one blessing in all of this was... Henry didn't know. He never would know. Only Joey was burdened with the knowledge that history was endlessly repeating itself. And it was _torture._

As Joey watched Henry walk out of the apartment towards the studio yet again, he risked a glance at the walls around him. Every surface, as far has he could see, was etched with tally marks. Hundreds. Thousands. Maybe even millions. He simply didn't know anymore.

Turning to the Ink Demon, he saw the creature raise a claw lazily, and scratch up another.

Slamming his hands onto the counter, Joey groaned in agony.

This lousy, stinking, stupid goddamn apartment had never been Paradise. Now, it was sheer Hell.

A Hell from which he could never escape.

_Hell is empty, and all the devils are here._

Slowly, Joey Drew sank down onto his knees, and screamed.


End file.
